The Last Christmas Hero
by Pearl the Barrister
Summary: After she catches him cheating on her, Bridgette and Geoff break up, and a broken Bridgette confesses all her secrets to her reflection. However, the mirror holds a secret camera, and she enlists the help of Noah  who secretly loves her  to get it back.
1. And the Winner Is

**THE LAST CHRISTMAS HERO**

**A Total Drama fanfiction by Pearl the Barrister**

**You can't really do a good summary in 250-odd characters, so here goes: _After the dramatic climax of Total Drama World Tour, Bridgette stumbles upon Geoff and Heather making out. She's appalled, even more so when Geoff breaks up with her, placing all the blame on her because of what has become known as 'The Alejandro Incident.' She falls apart, spilling all her secrets to her reflection. Unfortunately, she doesn't know that the mirror hides a secret camera. Chris plans to air all her secrets as part of the World Tour finale; however, Noah, who secretly loves her (and has ever since the second season), overhears him and Geoff talking about it and knows he has to tell Bridgette. This starts a crazed adventure through the greater Toronto of Christmastime as the two of them follow Chris, Chef and a bunch of mysterious interns to try and get the tape before it's too late and Bridgette is humiliated in front of a(n inter?)national audience. And sure enough, there may be romance . . ._**

**_Rated T, generally, unless otherwise noted. Noah/Bridgette main pairing, others to be indicated at the start of each chapter._**

**Disclaimer I: I do not own the _Total Drama_ series or any other song, book, television show, holiday, religious group, cult, product, or copyrighted item in this story. This disclaimer holds for every chapter in this story, _The Last Christmas Hero,_ including ones not posted yet, which so far is all of them.**

**Disclaimer II: The plans for this story were drawn up shortly after the airing of the TDWT episode _Anything Yukon Do, I Can Do Better_ (which, in fact, sparked the idea of an N/B pairing . . . yeah, I'm unimaginative). What happens after that episode will probably not be in alignment with what happened in the series here (in fact, almost certainly not), so yeah, sorry-I guess this is an alternate universe or something. But if the final 2 are Noah and Lindsay, I predicted it first! :)**

* * *

**_Chapter One (Bridgette) [EDITED 7/24/2010]_**

And the Winner Is... (Not Me)

_December 21, 2009_

_7:45 PM_

"And the season three _Total Drama _winner . . . _is_ . . ."

Chris's voice tingles with the usual mix of excitement and sadism I have grown used to in the past three seasons, but with a different, deliberately woven note of tension that fills the room, swallows us up.

"_Lindsay!_"

She jumps up from her seat, screaming with happiness. Cheers erupt from the rest of the contestants—well, most of them, anyway. Noah looks stunned, and I can tell what he's thinking: something along the lines of _I lost to LINDSAY?_ This makes me smile—sometimes people can surprise you.

Chris is saying something but no one can hear, and even if they could they probably wouldn't care. Beth and some other people pick up Lindsay and put her in the winner's chair, and I suddenly wonder where I was at the end of last season.

Oh, yeah. Making out with Geoff.

Chris swiftly wraps up the season with a loud, overblown "Total . . . Drama . . . _World Tour!"_ Then the cameras shut off and Chris sags, clearly down for whatever reason. _Hah,_ I think, smiling. _You'll get what you deserve soon enough, b—_

I'm cut off mid-profanity by Courtney, who looks appalled. "Can you believe it? He lost to _Lindsiot!_ Wow. I mean, I knew Noah was pretty worthless, competition-wise, but this is . . . wow. _Lindsay!"_

I am so not in the mood for Courtney right now, and I have no idea why. I mean, it's not like _I_ lost. _What gives _you _the right to be depressive?_ I ask myself. _I mean, what would Courtney say?_ Probably something like _No! Stop it! You're pathetic!_ Followed, of course, by a plethora of slapping, if that confessional I saw from Season One is any indication. I fill my brain with thoughts of Geoff to prepare myself for a long conversation with Courtney. Sure enough, it works, relaxing me instantly. "You were saying?"

* * *

I look down at my watch. "Oh, it's that time already? Sorry, Court, gotta go." I don't even know how long it's been. I just can't stand her talking anymore—one of those _I love you but get the hell out of my face_ affairs.

"It's okay," she says. "I have to call my lawyers anyway."

_ Hah._ Courtney and I part, and I head over to the bathroom. I've needed to go for a while, but you wouldn't _believe_ how much Courtney can just _talk_, especially when she's pissed about something.

As I sit, doing my business, I think about the episode. I'm actually really excited about how it went. The part with the oranges was just pure brilliance. The thought of it fills me with love for Geoff and his madcap ingenuity (yes, I said 'Geoff' and 'ingenuity' in the same sentence—I know. _Geoff._ Still, he can be rather clever when he wants to be), and I feel myself swelling up inside with happiness. He feels like a drug, and though I read enough _Twilight_ fanfiction back in ninth grade to know that codependency in a relationship is never a good thing, it kind of feels nice to have yourself so wrapped up in a person. I think about what happened earlier in the season with Alejandro and shudder. I am _so_ glad Geoff and I managed to clear that up. I don't know what I was thinking. Wait, I do. It's just . . . not appropriate for an under-18 audience, is all.

This is the part where, if I was Courtney, I would slap myself and say _No, stop it, you're pathetic_, burst into tears, and then go back to being my perfect Mary Sue self, Fleckman, Fleckman, Cohen and Strauss always by my side (well, as long as a twenty-percent commission is headed their way). But I'm not Courtney. I don't operate like that. I _like_ people, and I _like_ having friends . . . and a boyfriend. So I just finish up my business, wash my hands, and head over to the reel room to watch the episode.

Which is where I find it.

_ Them._

I can literally feel my jaw dropping. I always thought that was just a figure of speech, but I think mine's touching the floor.

"What . . . the. . ." I utter a word that is not exactly suitable for everyday conversation, but which suits this situation perfectly. It's enough to get their attention, and they unwrap themselves from each other, turning towards me, shocked expressions blooming on their faces.

"Bridge?" Geoff says, something in his voice I can't quite place but that I'm sure I have never heard before, not even during the apex of his Captain Hollywood phase back last season. No such strangeness from Heather. She just looks . . . normal. Smug. Almost proud.

"I can't—" I utter the word again, several times, as a matter of fact. "I just can't believe it." My voice doesn't sound familiar either. It's hoarse, tense, almost a whisper. "What . . . what the hell is going on?"

Silence—short, awkward, terrible. I might cry. I might die. I might just get a gun and kill someone—probably Heather, but no guarantees. Then, words finally spill out of Geoff's mouth, the mouth that only moments before was on Heather's—oh, God. I never understood why my grandma used to use the word 'necking'—she still does, as a matter of fact, embarrassing me to no end each and every time the dreaded word passes through her lips—but now, staring at the light purplish mark adorning Heather's possibly-soon-to-be-strangled-by-me neck, the true meaning hits me. My first thought: _wow, they gave hickeys even back then?_ My second: _Someone gonna die . . . and it might just be me._

"Excuse me, could you repeat that?" I say weakly. "I didn't hear." Heather snorts, and I shoot her an I Swear, One Wrong Move And I'll Kill You, Dammit look. Surprisingly, she shuts up.

I'm expecting something like _It's not what it looks like_ or _Please, Bridge, I can explain_, but Geoff says nothing. _It was probably bull anyway,_ I tell myself, but that doesn't help.

I can't speak for a second as I slide to the ground, back to the wall. I put my head in my hands and sigh, Courtney's personal mantra coming back to me: _No, stop it, you're pathetic. _Somehow, I gather enough strength to ask, head still buried in my hands, "How long has this been going on?"

"A while," Geoff says weakly after a short, piercing silence.

"_How long?"_ I roar.

Heather smirks. "Since before Season Two ended. After the third episode."

My jaw falls again, and I swear I hear a loud _clang_ as if my jaw is actually audibly hitting the floor. "That . . . long?"

Somehow, this sparks Geoff back to life, and his vivacity kind of startles me a bit. "Well, Bridgette, what do you _expect?_ I mean, you kept getting mad at me for taking my job seriously." I start to say something but he ignores me completely. "And then you make it into season three without me, and you _kiss Alejandro_—"

"I told you I was—that was—I'm sorry." I even sang a damn song.

"Yeah, Bridgette. I get that. But it was never the same after that. Not for me." I have never seen Geoff this mad. Not even during the Alejandro fiasco. _Defensiveness can do strange things to a person. _Who said that? My grandma, I think, although who knows who she stole it from.

"I . . . I just can't believe it."

Seemingly unaware that for her, the wisest course of action would to be to Shut The Hell Up, Heather cuts in, an odd note of pride in her voice that kind of makes me want to kill her (more than I already do, anyway, which trust me is a lot): "Well, Bridgette, you should be able to. After all, I am 'the hottest chick on the show.'" I remember Geoff saying this in the first TDA Aftermath episode and yet another wave of revulsion and homicidal mania rises up in me, this one directed mostly at him (though there's still some left for Heather, of course). Still, I can't say anything. Some small part of me thinks maybe I won't ever be able to.

* * *

It all happens so fast.

Geoff: _I don't think we're compatible anymore, Bridgette._ (Not Bridge, Bridgette, so that I might die.)

Me: _. . ._

Geoff: _It's just . . . after you kissed Alejandro, I felt maybe we weren't meant to be with each other._

Me: _But . . . it was . . ._

Geoff: _Yeah, I know. Before. But still._

_ But still._ I never knew those two words could sound so cold, so evil.

So . . . empty.

* * *

Somewhere during Geoff's breakup speech, Heather slips her arm around his shoulders, rests her head on his left one.

He says nothing.

In that moment, I stop believing in love. It sounds dramatic, but it's true.

* * *

And then it is all over, and Geoff is walking out of the door, his final _Goodbye, Bridge_ uttered in a cold, plain voice that does not sound like the Geoff I know, Heather following him, no air left in the room, and I cannot breathe for a second. In that second it is like everything I ever was is gone.

* * *

_My life, crashing down. The pieces falling, but I can't hold them, can't try to put them back together—each time I try, they pierce my hand, sliding right through as if I am made of nothing but air; each time I try, they continue to fall, falling, falling, falling, until I can't see them anymore, until any chance of them coming back to one is gone._

I utter these words into the mirror, my voice empty. I look at the girl in the mirror, who looks exactly like me, but strangely enough, less beaten, less worn, like she does not know what I know. She looks like the girl I used to be, enthusiastic and fun and full of hope for the future. Full of love, which I no longer believe exists.

I look at her, and then I talk. I tell her stories of Geoff and me, stories I swore to myself I'd never tell, stories about the good times and the bad times and the times where I felt he was the only thing that mattered, ever. I tell her stories of all the times Geoff and I were one, and the times we were two, and the times we were one and a half. I tell her of the times we were one, _literally,_ if you know what I mean, and I tell her of the times we were not us, but a French maid and a police officer during a drug raid. I tell her these stories, hoping that maybe that if I tell them all, one day I can forget.

And then I see the strange, metallic glint in the other girl's eye, the gleam that I've grown to know all too well. _Is that a camera?_

Nah, I decide. My luck couldn't be that bad.


	2. Human Interests

**THE LAST CHRISTMAS HERO: Chapter 2 (Noah)**

**NOTE: As of 7/24/2010 I made some mild edits to Chapter 1 that lead into Chapter 2. For the most part Chapter 1 is the same, though-I just corrected a couple of grammar things, added a period, and put in a couple of lines to make things clearer. No further edits will be made on any chapter after it is posted; I just didn't want to leave it as "Heather saids" for posterity.**

**_This chapter: Rated T for cursing and mild sexual innuendos._**

**Disclaimer I: I do not own the _Total Drama_ series or any other song, book, television show, holiday, religious group, cult, product, or copyrighted item in this story. This disclaimer holds for every chapter in this story, _The Last Christmas Hero,_ including ones not posted yet, which so far is all of them.**

**Disclaimer II: The plans for this story were drawn up shortly after the airing of the TDWT episode _Anything Yukon Do, I Can Do Better_ (which, in fact, sparked the idea of an N/B pairing . . . yeah, I'm unimaginative). What happens after that episode will probably not be in alignment with what happened in the series here (in fact, almost certainly not), so yeah, sorry-I guess this is an alternate universe or something. But if the final 2 are Noah and Lindsay, I predicted it first! :)**

* * *

**_Chapter Two (Noah)_**

Human Interests

_December 21, 2009_

_10 PM_

I can still remember the first time I saw her. The memory lingers in the back of my brain, no matter how much I try to banish it (and believe me, I do. A lot). It was on the first day of the first season, the day we all arrived. I didn't know anything about any of the other contestants except Katie and Sadie, who lived one town over from mine and who, upon their acceptance to Total Drama Island, appeared in a "Human Interest" article in the area paper. (It was bad. I think Sadie was even quoted as saying "[The best thing about this is] all the sex I'm getting!" Sometimes I don't even think Sadie even knows what sex _is._) As far as I could guess, though, they were all probably total stereotypes—reality TV producers generally assume that their viewers are complete idiots who would fail to recognize anything other than the most distinct archetypes, with only a vague sense of the human condition. Then again, taking into account that—like—ninety-six percent of the kids at my school watched _War Zone Survivor: Gaza Strip _and _Complete Casino Makeover with Arnold Schwarzenegger_ religiously, they may not be too far off the mark.

Back to that day, though:

I remember stepping on to the dock, going to stand next to the other contestants after the mandatory thirty-second sound bite. Beth came over to me then: _Hey,_ she said. _Isn't it—like—_so_ exciting to be here?_ Her braces gave her a slight lisp, and I remember thinking, _Wow, can you _get_ any more stereotypical, Teletoon?_ As it turns out, this question was answered immediately after with the arrival of LeShawna, but I wasn't paying attention then because at that exact moment I saw her long blond hair waving in the wind.

She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Trite, I know—and trust me, I do know—but completely effing true. I mean, she was hot.

_What's her name?_ I asked Beth.

_Bridgette._

She was talking to Geoff, I remember that much. He was saying something stupid like _Hi, I'm Geoff and I'm stupid,_ and she was smiling like she . . . _liked_ him. A wave of jealousy rose up in me, unbidden. It was that sudden—I knew then that I was in love with her.

Beth smiled. "Hah, you _like_ her, don't you?"

I don't remember what ultra-sarcastic quip I made to Beth then, but let me guarantee that it was bad_._ Like, really, really mean.

I think she cried.

It was very, _very_ satisfying.

* * *

"Come on," Cody is saying. "What have you got to lose, man?"

I can feel my eyes rolling of their own accord—I don't even have to think about it anymore. Cynicism has entered my bloodstream by now, infiltrated my DNA. If I ever have kids their first words will probably be _My heart bleeds for you_. "Well, for starters, my dignity, hopes and dreams, and any semblance of self-esteem I may still harbor after that fiasco back in the third episode."

He ponders this for a second before responding: "Well . . . it can't be any worse than that time you made out with my ear in Season One."

Again, my eyes make their usual loop around in their sockets, the universal signal of _You cannot possibly be serious_ clearly showing my displeasure at this empty pleasantry. "Trust me. It was."

"No, it wasn't!"

"Tell that to our fangirls."

"You know, maybe I would if they weren't always chasing after you. Remember the Mature 18s?"

I shudder. "Unfortunately, yes." Sometime during the first season Cody, Katie and I got bored, so we found a computer and Googled ourselves, figuring maybe someone had posted another "Human Interest" article about us, at the very least. There were 125,000 results for my name alone, and I'm pretty sure at least 90,000 of those were definitely pertaining to _me_. Anyways, through a series of interconnected links we somehow got onto the deviantART page of this nineteen-year-old college student from "Cambridge, Massachusetts, The United States" who had a plethora of Mature 18+ deviations with my name and the girl's (plus a couple of other names that I guess were Original Characters, and even one with Cody and me) in the titles. We were naïve enough to click on one—"It can't be _that_ bad," I remember Katie saying—and . . . well, let's just say MIT admissions probably wish they'd seen it before sending out acceptance letters. "But that's irrelevant. This is _Bridgette_, someone I actually _know_." _And like._

"All the more reason to ask her out! I mean, you wouldn't ask out any of those skeevy deviantART girls because you don't like them and they'd probably do creepy things to you in your sleep. But Bridgette—well, she's . . . fine, to say the least."

_Talk about missing the point._

"Horndog."

"Oh, you know you can't resist him," says a chillingly familiar female voice. I turn around, and sure enough. "Izzy," I say flatly, because I can't think of anything else to say.

"Hey, Noah." There's a few seconds of silence. Cody clears his throat, and Izzy's mouth pulls down in a line. "What, no sarcasm?"

"His brain is otherwise occupied," Cody tells her. "With the fair _Bridgette_, no less."

"Ooh, _Noah._ And I thought all this time you were gay!"

"Uh, yeah, that's . . . great." Out of the corner of my eye I see Geoff leading Chris into one of the back hallways. Heather is saying something to both of them, looking rather enthusiastic. I've never seen Heather look _that_ pleased about anything. "Look, I—I have to go."

"Noah!" says Izzy, sounding displeased. "I was just kidding. Well, actually, no, I wasn't, but come on."

"No, I mean, I have to go to the bathroom."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, and I have cramps."

"Wow, actual sarcasm. I must be rubbing off on you."

"You know it!"

* * *

10:16. After listening to Izzy and Cody trying to convince me to ask Bridgette out for maybe fifteen more minutes, I finally manage to escape. I sneak through the back hallways, trying not to be heard. I keep walking for maybe twenty more minutes before I hear voices.

Chris: "Wow. This is . . . I'm speechless."

Heather (bitchily): "Sure you are. Now, we need an answer, now. Do you want to show this with the finale?"

Geoff: "It would make for _epic_ television!"

Chris: "You know it! Wait—let me see that again?"

There's the unmistakable sound of a tape rewinding and the click of a play button. Then the sounds of someone crying, and an all-too-familiar voice that makes me shiver when I realize what it's saying.

Bridgette.

* * *

Chapter 3 to come soon, hopefully sooner than this one. Feel free to review.


	3. Required Response

**THE LAST CHRISTMAS HERO: Chapter 3 (Bridgette)**

**_This chapter: Rated T for cursing._**

**Disclaimer I: I do not own the _Total Drama_ series or any other song, book, television show, holiday, religious group, cult, product, or copyrighted item in this story. This disclaimer holds for every chapter in this story, _The Last Christmas Hero,_ including ones not posted yet, which so far is all of them.**

**Disclaimer II: The plans for this story were drawn up shortly after the airing of the TDWT episode _Anything Yukon Do, I Can Do Better_ (which, in fact, sparked the idea of an N/B pairing . . . yeah, I'm unimaginative). What happens after that episode will probably not be in alignment with what happened in the series here (in fact, almost certainly not), so yeah, sorry-I guess this is an alternate universe or something. But if the final 2 are Noah and Lindsay, I predicted it first! :)**

* * *

_**Chapter Three (Bridgette)**_

Required Response

_December 21, 2009_

_11:45 PM_

I'm lost.

Not really, of course—I know exactly where I am, in my room at the Aftermath studios, staring at myself in the mirror. I wonder what I'm supposed to be thinking right now. Should I be worrying that "I'm not pretty enough?" Would detailed revenge plans be a good idea? Maybe the appropriate response would be to throw something at the mirror, watch the shards fall to the ground, suffer an extreme mental breakdown, and cry into the pieces of glass, pressing my palms into the floor until the glass pricks my skin and I bleed. (Yeah . . . no, thanks. I'll pass.) But all I feel is kind of empty, a little raw from all that crying. Kind of hungry. I wonder if I have any chips left in my backpack. Maybe I should check. I don't feel like getting up, but I really am hungry—I haven't eaten since this morning. I push off my chair, lean off to one side, grab onto the handle of my backpack, and pull it towards me, righting my chair at the very last second before I fall. There's a lot of stuff inside, but I throw most of it to the ground. No chips. At the very bottom of my pack I find a small white box. I lift the lid carefully, hoping it's not some voodoo doll that's going to curse me forever, and find the coin box. You know, _the_ coin box, from the first season.

The one Geoff gave me.

Dried flecks of glue seep out of the cracks from when it broke, and I can barely recognize Geoff's picture. _That's about right,_ I think bitterly. _I can't recognize the real Geoff anymore either._ I feel myself freeze up as another shuddering sob rises up in me. Tears leak out of my eyes, but I can't dry them—it's like my whole body has frozen up. The coin box slips out my hands. Paralyzed, I watch as it hits the ground, shattering instantly, a million little pieces.

I'm sure there's a great opportunity for metaphor here, but honestly? Right now, I couldn't give any less of a shit.

* * *

**Chapter 4 Posted Concurrently!**


	4. Morning After

**THE LAST CHRISTMAS HERO: Chapter 4 (Noah)**

**_This chapter: Rated T for cursing and moderate sexual innuendos._**

**Disclaimer I: I do not own the _Total Drama_ series or any other song, book, television show, holiday, religious group, cult, product, or copyrighted item in this story. This disclaimer holds for every chapter in this story, _The Last Christmas Hero,_ including ones not posted yet, which so far is all of them.**

**Disclaimer II: The plans for this story were drawn up shortly after the airing of the TDWT episode _Anything Yukon Do, I Can Do Better_ (which, in fact, sparked the idea of an N/B pairing . . . yeah, I'm unimaginative). What happens after that episode will probably not be in alignment with what happened in the series here (in fact, almost certainly not), so yeah, sorry-I guess this is an alternate universe or something. But if the final 2 are Noah and Lindsay, I predicted it first! :)**

* * *

_**Chapter Four (Noah)**_

Morning After

_December 22, 2009_

_9:45 AM_

At breakfast the next morning, Lindsay announces that she'll be holding a party this evening. She tells us she's spent upwards of twenty thousand dollars on the preparations, and she heavily implies that there will be alcohol. (Funny, I didn't know Lindsay could imply. Don't you need a brain to do that?) Usually I would be off in a corner of the room, thinking about How Stupid This All Is and how I'm Surrounded By Idiots, and while that's one of my favorite pastimes, I need something to take my mind off what I heard yesterday.

_ "I can't believe he would do this. I want to blame Heather, but I know who's really to blame here."_

_ "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone."_

_ "I still have the French maid outfit."_

_No,_ I tell myself. _This isn't the time to be thinking about Bridgette in a . . ._ Too late. I stand up from the table. "I need to be excused," I croak, barely able to get the words out. I need to go now.

"Don't be silly, Noah," Lindsay says breezily. "We need you to help with preparations for the party!"

"I thought you said you . . . finished already." I look around the room for something to defuse the ticking time bomb inside me. _Let's see. . . . Gwen, Trent, Tyler . . . ah, Chef!_ I stare at Chef for a few seconds, hoping he doesn't notice me and spout more insane Chefisms, and sure enough, I feel my insides deflating. Everything is back to normal. I no longer feel like I'm going to explode. "Okay, then," I say, sitting down. For the maybe twenty-seventh time I wonder where Bridgette is. _Push it away, Noah._

Alejandro pops into the conversation. "Hey, Lindsay, can I come?"

She looks appalled at even the suggestion, but it's Sierra who answers for her: "_Heck_ no! I mean, come on. She may be stupid, but she's not dumb. After what you did to Izzy, with the tires? And all those mooses . . ."

"Moose," I correct her, but she doesn't hear.

"And I don't think _Duncan_ will ever recover from the trauma!" she continues.

"I saw his therapist driving around in a Porsche," Beth notes. "They're obviously not getting anywhere."

"Irregardless!" says someone else—Katie, I think.

Alejandro bows his head in the universal I-been-bad gesture understood by, well, pretty much everyone. Even Lindsay. "Please believe me. I apologize. The greed . . . it overtook me. Besides—" Here he turns to Lindsay, and his seduction capabilities are turned up full blast. "—I could not live with myself if such a beautiful girl was angry at me."

Lindsay rolls her eyes, but she does look a little starstruck. Even so, she says rather angrily, in an un-Lindsaylike tone, "Seriously? You think I'm gonna believe that? It might've worked on Gwen back in Hicksville Flats, Mississippi, but we all know who you really are. Besides, I'm with Noah." She pulls Tyler closer to her; he looks like he might vomit, but whether it's because Lindsay (surprisingly strong for someone so lithe—must be all those challenges) has pulled him uncomfortably tight or due to the frustration caused by being mistaken for me (again) I cannot decipher.

I have to cut in here. "Um, Lindsay? I'm Noah."

She waves a hand at me. "Whatever, Tyler. Anyway, sorry, Alejandro. You're just too much of a bastard."

A low noise rises from the group gathered around the victor's circle: _OoooOooh_. I feel like I'm back in year four again . . . or at least I would if I hadn't skipped it. Meanwhile, another low sound arises, this time from Tyler—I wonder if he really will throw up. He's turning an odd shade of purple.

"I'll bring nachos," Alejandro says.

"DEAL!" screams Lindsay, releasing Tyler in her excitement. He drops to the floor, gasping for air.

"Oops," she says. "Sorry, Noah!"

I roll my eyes. "Air, air," Tyler gasps.

* * *

I don't see Bridgette for the rest of the day. Lindsay makes me help her with 'preparations,' though Courtney tells me everything's pretty much already done (as usual, the girl has butted into a project that doesn't really need her help, citing her 'superior', CIT-experience-abetted planning skills), and part of me wonders if it's not her way of apologizing for beating me and causing me to lose a million dollars. I know she probably doesn't have the required brainpower, but still, the thought is nice.

The whole time, the same thought is running through my head:

_I need to tell Bridgette._

_ I need to tell Bridgette._

_ I need to tell Bridgette._

And no matter how many times I reply with an internal _SHUT UP,_ or even something worse that should be making my conscience break down and sob for its grandma, it keeps coming back. Not even sarcasm can save me now.

* * *

Anyone want me to write **Chapter 5** in the second-person perspective of Heather? (Just kidding.)


End file.
